


Pretending

by tuesday



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blackmail, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood Magic, Consent Issues, F/F, Fake Relationship for Incredibly Flimsy Reasons, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fuckbuddies, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: The first time, they had a good reason.  Well, Agnes had a good reason, and Carla had the impetus of carefully gathered blackmail leveraged against her.  Agnes needed a boost in popularity for very particular purposes.  Carla was the most popular prefect Callow Hall had had in twenty years according to the ghost that lived on the third floor.  If they were girlfriends or at least put up a good enough front to fool everyone, then some of that popularity would rub off.  Literally, if Carla wanted to.
Relationships: Ambitious Outcast at Magic School/Gifted and Popular Prefect, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside)





	Pretending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).



The first time, they had a good reason. Well, Agnes had a good reason, and Carla had the impetus of carefully gathered blackmail leveraged against her. Agnes needed a boost in popularity for very particular purposes. Carla was the most popular prefect Callow Hall had had in twenty years according to the ghost that lived on the third floor. If they were girlfriends or at least put up a good enough front to fool everyone, then some of that popularity would rub off. Literally, if Carla wanted to.

“I really don’t want to,” Carla said. Her pouty lips pulled back in a sneer. Her pretty slate eyes were narrowed in distaste. Everything in her expression signaled the desire to be far, far away.

“You’ll have to do a better job pretending than this if you want those photos,” Agnes said, smiling sweetly and holding out her hand.

Carla breathed in and out in the same rhythm the beginner’s meditation class taught. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the distaste was better hidden, though it couldn’t pass for adoration. She didn’t smile, but she did take Agnes’s hand and clasp it gently in her own. Her skin was soft and smooth, like she’d never carved her own staves from scratch. Agnes wondered if she moisturized.

“How long, exactly, is this relationship going to ask?” Carla asked in a sickly sweet tone.

“As long as I need it to,” Agnes said.

—

The ritual was straightforward. It sacrificed goodwill for power. Goodwill could be regained. Power? Power had to be earned slowly through blood, sweat, and tears—or bought with less savory means.

A few weeks of pretending Carla was her one true love in public and staying out of her way in private was well worth what would have been years of work otherwise. Agnes didn’t have years. She needed the power now or at least before graduation, when the protection of the school would no longer be afforded to her.

And if Carla no longer liked or trusted her, well. One person’s faint, impersonal goodwill for the widespread goodwill of the crowd was a good trade. When you compared it to what Agnes could have done, the other, darker spells she knew, Agnes’s plan wasn’t that bad. Much better than the rituals that sacrificed young virgin witches to add to a family patriarch’s power.

—

“That’s why you decided to blackmail me?” Carla asked when it was done and half the school had forgotten Agnes’s name—and the other half only remembered it to curse it. “The dating, the public declarations of affection, sucking up to the entire student body, all of it was so that when we graduated, you might possibly have the slimmest chance to challenge your great-grandfather and win?”

“Who said anything about challenging him?” Agnes scrubbed off the last of the blood—her own: the point was to do this _without_ leaving an indelible stain on her soul—and pulled back on her robes. “I’m just hoping to survive.”

Despite Agnes shamelessly blackmailing Carla into a relationship for a little over a month and a ritual aimed at the student body that ensured she had no goodwill left, Carla somehow managed to find reserves from the innate goodness within her that made her so popular to look concerned. The perfect curves of her eyebrows furrowed. A tiny line appeared on her otherwise unblemished forehead. A cute frown pulled at her pouty lips. Her pretty slate eyes glinted with what looked like it could be compassion. Agnes kind of hated her.

“What if,” Carla said carefully, “you weren’t a virgin?”

“I’m not sleeping with some rando even if it would save my life.” If Agnes were willing to do that, she had her own more metaphorical virgin sacrifice rituals she could ride to more power yet. “I would honestly rather die.”

Carla caught her lower lip between even, white teeth and raked Agnes’s barely covered form up and down with a shockingly heated gaze for someone who’d been disgusted by the notion of holding Agnes’s hand not too long ago. Her gaze caught on where Agnes hadn’t pulled the robe all the way shut and the swell her breasts peeked out more than the student dress code allowed.

“Some rando, yeah, but what about your girlfriend of six weeks?”

“We’re not actually dating,” Agnes said blankly.

“So that’s a no?”

Agnes considered it. She hadn’t lost that much blood in the last ritual. She said, “Let me get the razor again.”

Even if she escaped being sacrificed, losing her virginity just to lose her virginity seemed like a tragic waste.

—

When the second ritual was concluded, Agnes let Carla steal one last lingering kiss, tasting her own blood on Carla’s mouth, then levered herself off the cold stone floor of the student union’s private practice room. She said, “This was fun. Thanks for the power boost. Let me know if you’re ever interested in doing more sex magic.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Carla asked as Agnes started cleaning up again.

“Can’t think of anything, no,” Agnes said.

“The blackmail photos.”

“Ah. Right.” Agnes shrugged. “I already burned them after the first time I threatened you. Do you have any idea how much trouble I would’ve been in if they’d found photos of illegal spellwork during the random room checks?”

Carla gave a strangled noise that sounded like her voice box was grinding against itself. It wasn’t pleasant to listen to. She should really stop that. “That whole time—?”

“Surprise.” Agnes did jazz hands. “The evidence was real, but I am not the sort of person to keep evidence of a crime. Or even borderline activity, so get over here and let me wipe the blood off.”

—

The next time, they were almost to winter break. Carla stopped Agnes in the halls and said, “I need a favor. You owe me.”

Agnes did not owe her, actually. That was what the blackmail had been for: avoiding favors. Because she was feeling generous and also was kind of hoping to leverage whatever this was going to be into a possible sex magic partner—it was kind of difficult to find a trustworthy partner when half the school didn’t know you existed and the other half hated your guts—Agnes let Carla pull her into an empty classroom.

“So. Favor: go.”

Carla took a deep breath. It was a bit distracting. Her robes were pulled tight and included the regulation modest neckline—but her robes were pulled _tight_. Agnes got front row seats to the way her expanding lungs shoved her chest out like it was demanding her attention. Was Carla wearing a bra? Agnes wasn’t sure Carla was wearing a bra.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend over break,” Carla said in a rush.

Agnes, who had been sidetracked by the very distracting way Carla’s chest moved, had to ask her to repeat herself.

“Be my date over break,” Carla gritted out.

“Fake dating while we’re not even here? Easy.” Agnes held out her hand. “I can do it … on one condition.”

“Agree to my terms for the fake dating, and I’ll do it.”

In retrospect, both of them should have asked for the other’s terms before sealing their bargain. Live and learn.

—

When Carla wasn’t at school, she lived in one of those cozy little cottages that usually boasted a hedge witch and seventeen cats. And look, there was a hedge witch and seven of those seventeen cats, waiting at the doorstep and on the eaves to greet them. The hedge witch stood on the stoop and held her arms wide open in expectant welcome as they and their luggage trundled down the cobblestone road. Carla stood up from her trunk. Agnes stayed seated on hers in the hopes she might escape notice. From the way the hedge witch was staring straight at her, she didn’t think she was succeeding.

“Mom,” Carla said warmly. The six weeks of fake dating before this had done her ability to lie good. She didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable as she dragged Agnes off the luggage and thrust her forward at her would-be fake in-law who didn’t know the fake part. “Meet Agnes Thornwallow. My girlfriend.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Agnes, who hadn’t needed those six weeks to perfect the art of lying convincingly when and where she deemed it necessary.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” the hedge witch said.

“Same,” said Agnes, who didn’t even know this woman’s name.

“Call me Helena,” she said, and oh, good, a name to forget as soon as this torment was over. “I was so happy to hear from little Timothy that Carla had met someone. He only had good things to say about you.”

Who the fuck was Timothy?

“I’m sure my cousin couldn’t have said that much,” Carla said, staring at Agnes meaningfully. “We’re in different years. He probably couldn’t pick Agnes out of a crowd.”

One of Carla’s hangers-on who’d dished, then forgotten her. Good to know.

“Oh, no, he sent pictures in his last letter,” Helena said cheerfully. “Unlike a certain daughter, he remembers to write once in a while. He had so much to say.”

Oh. One of the ones who hated her. Yeah. This break was going to be so much fun. At least it was better than going home.

—

It was. Sort of.

In Agnes’s defense, if she’d known Carla was so shitty at silencing charms, she’d have laid her own down. In Carla’s defense, Agnes _had_ provided most of the noise. In both their defense, they’d locked the door.

“Whose blood is that?” Helena demanded as Agnes and Carla fought for the protective embrace of the cover.

“Mine,” Agnes snapped as Carla said, “It’s chicken blood!”

“Only yours?” Helena pressed Agnes.

“If I’d snuck in a human sacrifice, I’d think that would’ve tripped your wards,” Agnes said.

Carla put a hand on her face. She said, “You told me you wouldn’t judge what I did in bed. You promised that no judgment would be forthcoming. That this would be a judgment-free holiday.”

“I was talking about you being a lesbian, not bringing home a blood mage to cut you open.” Helena kept a hard stare on Agnes, who gave up on winning the blanket and instead crossed her arms awkwardly over her chest.

“It’s all my blood,” Agnes said tiredly. “I wasn’t even doing anything interesting with it yet.” Agnes had a thing about doing potentially illegal activity in new places. She didn’t like it. She needed three days minimum to adjust. “Your daughter just has a kink for me being covered in blood when I’m screaming her name.”

“Agnes!” Carla protested.

“Hey, this is your fault this time, and I’m not even making you explain it.”

“I was wrong,” Helena said flatly. She switched that hard stare to Carla. “I’m judging you.”

—

After that excruciating conversation, they were left to their own devices.

“Hey, did you still want to—?” Agnes offered.

“No.” Carla had her face pressed firmly against her forearms, which were pressed to her knees. The blanket was wrapped around her hunched form.

“I can set the silencing charm this time,” Agnes said.

“Absolutely not.”

“Your loss.” Agnes stared at the ceiling. “Do you think your mom is going to invite me back for spring break?”

“I regret not just fake breaking up with you,” Carla said.

—

On the plus side, once they were back at school, Carla kept her side of the bargain. Sex magic buddies! Or at least acquaintances. Not-quite-nemeses?

On the minus side, after one particularly fruitful session, Agnes turned to Carla, trying to get her breathing back under control, and something in the combination of the rush of endorphins and the way the candle light burnished Carla’s skin in flickering gold formed a strange, terrible alchemy. Carla was attractive—had always been attractive—but tonight she was downright beautiful. Agnes’s heart turned over in her chest, and they’d had enough practice that she couldn’t even pretend it was an unfortunate and imminently deadly side effect of botching the ritual.

Despite everything, Carla had a warm, soft smile on her face. She reached out a hand and gently pushed a lock of hair behind Agnes’s ear. She said, “I’m staying here tonight, okay?” and, curling forward, put her head on Agnes’s shoulder and fell asleep.

This was tremendously unfair, and Agnes was not going to stand for it. She was going to get up and sleep on the floor in protest any minute now.

Listening to Carla’s deep, steady breaths, hand threaded through her curly hair, Agnes fell asleep.

—

“I need someone to pretend to date me,” Agnes said. It was three months after graduation and a month after her bloody ascension as family matriarch, and she shouldn’t miss Carla’s stupidly beautiful face this much. “Just for a few months to get the vultures off my back and to get the matchmaking to stop.”

“No one can make you do anything you don’t want them to do,” Carla said through the communication spell. This was less a pep talk and more an open acknowledgment of the fact that Agnes did what she wanted now, fuck the consequences.

“I want you to come and pretend to be my lover.”

Carla smiled. She shook her head, but agreed. “How long should I pack for?”

 _Forever,_ Agnes thought. “At least a few weeks.”

Carla moved in three days later—and never moved back out.

—

Eventually, they stopped pretending.


End file.
